fight for me.

The pastor at my church has promised a message series coming on what it means to be a man. All of the 20-something, single women rejoiced.

This summer really taught me a lot about men - or lack thereof - and the affect it has on the kids who didn't get to choose their dads... their brothers... their male influence.

The boys are lost, trying to figure out what it means to be a man - besides just what they hear in hip hop music (that's all those young whipper-snappers are listening to these days - yes, I am secretly 80). The girls are seaching for someone... anyone... who will fight for them.

I know I am.

Almost every woman I know... every woman you see in a romantic comedy or an action movie... every girl in a story-song... all of us - we want to be chosen. To be fought for. It's not the uniform that makes the "man in uniform" loveable. It's that he's fighting for something he believes in, so maybe he'd fight for me too.

The feminist in me wants to add something here about that it's not that we're not capable of doing things on our own. But let's be honest. I was thrilled to death that one of my guy friends cleaned up the rotting squirrel in my basement so I didn't have to do it. I love when I'm clearly struggling with carrying something and a man offers to help. I like having someone be thoughtful enough to hold the door open for me. I'm capable of doing it. But it's nice to be thought of.

It's what every girl secretly wants.
We want you to take a risk. Step up and ask us out.
We want you to take care of us. Kill the moths. And step on the giant crickets.
We want you to carry heavy things and get off difficult lids. That one is because our hands are probably wet.
We want you to fight for us. Face it. Sometimes we say things, just to hear that you want to be with us.
We want you to lead us. I want you to love Jesus. And to help me follow Him better. I am also bad with directions.

From the girl who's been single her whole life to the recently divorced to the heart-broken to the flirt - hear from us all: please. fight for me.

how quickly we forget.

I guess the "we" in the title should probably just be me. Er. That would be bad grammar. "how quickly me forget. me jane."

One of my friends can't remember names to save his life. Or stories. Some people aren't good with numbers. Some people, not good at remembering important lessons in life. I wish I were one of the first two, but alas.

I am number 3 (see what I did there? a play on the movie? I Am Number Four? Look it up.).

I, like Mater in Cars2, have left a dent in my car as a reminder not to compromise. Because it never ends well. I don't want to go back to the life I was leading - where I was a person that I hate and didn't really know who I was.

But, it's super easy to go back.

What is it about boys that makes girls go so crazy? We fight over them. We get dramatic over them. We let them break our hearts without them ever having invested any ounce of thought into us. We're as silly and dense as we call them. I say "we" because I'm definitely part of the problem. I quickly forget that I don't have to become like anyone else to be "liked." And you know... not just liked... LIKE-liked. (obviously.)

Maybe no one will ever come around that LIKE-likes me. I am a firm believer that I want to be with someone that together, we can do infinitely more for God than we could have done separately. Maybe I'm just imagining there's someone like that out there.

And if I'm being really honest, that sucks.
But if that's life, that's the best plan.

Because I was reminded tonight, my plan is clearly not the one that works. I tried that once.
It's where I got the dent.

frickin' perfect.

I just shattered this mirror. The perfect end to the perfect frickin' week. (note sarcasm)

This has been one of the more difficult weeks, culminating in one of the more difficult days I've had in awhile.

From heart-broken friends, disregarded middle school/high school students to my own struggle with feeling not good enough - it's really been just been... tough. I'm feeling a lot like this mirror right now. A bit broken and scattered.

I'm not as strong as everyone seems to think I am.

give me your eyes

I'm at a conference speaking out about human trafficking and one of the survivors just gave her testimony on how the spiral down a long dark path started. Simple... Her parents were too busy for her and couldn't believe that anything as awful as rape could happen to her. Because stuff like that doesn't happen to people you know... Just people you hear about.

No one heard her out. No one took the time to ask that maybe her lashing out was because she was hurt with no one to talk to. It wasn't that she was a "bad kid" and "not good in school." Its because she was hurting. And no one saw. Or cared.

I want to see through eyes that look past the "bad kid" exterior. I want to see past bad attitudes and rudeness. I want to look beyond self injury or self centeredness. Because everyone has a reason for the way they are. We all are a product of what we've been through. Some of us just hide it better.

second place.

Clouds are rolling in. My bosses are gone from work. I'm showing semblance of being actually caught up for a second on my list of things to do. Mat Kearney is on my Spotify account and I have my silly hipster scarf on.

Time to blog.

I am competitive. At everything. I don't play checkers because it makes me angry when I lose. I don't play Monopoly because it takes too stinking long to win. I don't play BS or Uno because they both make me into a crazy competitive, semi-angry player.

What? I like to win. Don't you?

I don't like coming in second place. At anything. It's pretty much guided the pieces of who I am. I don't like trying new things because I'm not going to be good at them. I don't initiate conversations with my friends because "what if they don't want to talk to me because someone better is out there?" I don't admit when I like someone because it might not work out and then I have to admit that I am second place to whatever other girl took first.

The funny thing is, I actually find myself in second place a lot.

Working with middle schoolers who have little to no filter reminds me that I'm never going to be the pretty, popular cheerleader-type that is their favorite. And I wasn't even when I was in high school. I'm not the best at dancing. I'm really not the best at leading a small group. I'm not the "most fun car ride to the zoo EVER." And I don't have the best, funniest, most relatable stories.

In b-girl(thanks, Homestar Runner) relationships, I've always been the friend. "One of the Guys" is where I'm most comfortable. In high school, college, and even after, I always heard about the girls that my guy friends liked. Gave them advice on what a girl means when she says this... or that, and how to respond. But no matter how good of a friend I might be - I'm still second to the elusive "Johanna" - tall, blonde, swimmer - that every guy seems to die for... who won't even give him the time of day (Taylor Swift wrote a song about that...).

Most days I'm okay with that. But I'm having a hard time in my aloneness with feeling second-rate. Damaged goods. Some other cliche that means "not very good."

Insert some encouraging piece here. I'm sure there's a verse or a line in a song or something to tie a post like this up nicely if you can't handle things not being okay for a second.

At the end of the day, I still hate to lose. But I do. And I get over it.

Here's to second place. And the learning that comes out of it.

.boys.

Hanging out with middle school girls has taught me a lot. It also frightens me. For a lot of the girls, the world revolves around boys.
They live, eat, move, breathe... everything for a boy.
They change who they are.
They leave their circle of friends and join his.
They give up who they are.

Then when said boy leaves said girl because she's not the cool, unique girl he liked in the first place (because she's basically become a copy of him), girl is heartbroken. She cries to all of her friends who assure her it's his loss. She eats countless amounts of chocolate. And maybe ice cream. And watches sappy movies.

Then ... hope! Said boy might like girl again!! Forget all of the hurtful stuff that he did or said... he wants me back! That's what we think to ourselves. So we continue being a shadow of who we really are. Who we were made to be. And we settle into trying once again to please and become this one boy.

ENOUGH.

Why do we do this to ourselves? It's hard to wait and be patient. I have done everything in this post so many times. And I look back now and realize all the mistakes I made and don't want anyone else to go through it.

It's so much easier to go for the lowest hanging fruit.
To not really be vulnerable.
To not ever really be known.
To not fight, but just agree with everything.

But it's never as good as it was meant to be when we don't hold out for the best.

like a child.

With all the crazy pain in the world that the kids I work closest with face, I forget sometimes that there are still "little girls" out there. They grew up with 2 parents. They like pink. And frills. They freak out when there are loud noises. And then freak out again when they realize the loud noises were really confetti cannons shooting awesome streamers of shininess.

But they do exist.

Little girls, running up to me just because they've heard my voice before. Or because their mom told them to. Giving me unforeseen hugs. Wanting a picture of me with my silly hipster scarf.

I don't think it's ever made me feel so small. Part of me wants to tell their parents, "No! Don't let your little girl grow up to be like me! Be honest with her! Tell her about REAL life, not just the easy stuff." The other part wants to hide scared. Worried that if parents found out who I really am, who I've really been, that they'll take their little girls, write a nasty complaint email, and get me fired from my job.

It was a ridiculous picture of God using the weak. the unimportant. the silly. The entire day was such a crapshoot, honestly. Leading me up to a moment when the speaker is calling girls forward to make the most important decision of their life and wanting me to help guide them through it. I've never felt more incapable. More unfocused. More unworthy. I've never cried out to God in such a panic (including the 2 car accidents I've been in).

Oh God. I need help. I don't know what I'm doing!

But, really. I should have been learning from these girls. Realizing that they came forward. Not worried what their friends thought. Just because they knew they wanted Jesus. It was that simple. They shared that moment with their moms. They shared the things they're scared of - the things that they've been called that they don't like and don't want to believe anymore.

Simple. No wonder we're supposed to have faith like a child.